That Which We Keep Hidden
by 5 Minutes 2 Midnight
Summary: A brief look into how Castiel has changed over the course of Supernatural, shown through introspection and "what if" (AU) scenes. MAJOR SPOILERS for seasons 4-11


Hey, guys! \^_^/ Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!

 **A/N:** This was written for an English 1000 assignment: Write a fiction piece that incorporates transformation or metamorphosis in whatever way you see fit.

 **As a constant preface:** I don't have a beta, so I want to _explicitly_ state that if you see ANY mistakes (i.e. to vs. too, their vs there, an extra comma, etc. *no matter how small!*) just tell me. I'll try to fix it ASAP. Just give me the whole phrase (for reference) and what needs to be changed in it. There's nothing worse when I see a mind-blowing sentence but my mind focuses on the ONE missspelling... ;)

 **Summary:** A brief look into how Castiel has changed over the course of Supernatural, shown through introspection and "what if" (AU) scenes. MAJOR SPOILERS for seasons 4-11

 _That Which We Keep Hidden_

Change is inevitable. I mean, of course it is, but, still, sometimes people need reminding: Change. Is. Inevitable. As the years go by, people grow up emotionally, physically, mentally. Sometimes it's for the better, sometimes it's for the worse, sometimes it's a big, gray area surrounding a long, fine line. Sometimes change isn't really in your control, and sometimes it's a choice that divides your very being and the lives of those around you.

 **4**

 **"** **I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."**

He started as a true Angel of the Lord. As a "Warrior of God. A soldier."* Angels returned to Earth with a mission— _he_ returned with a mission—but somewhere along the way that line grew fuzzy. He learned and felt and needed more than a simple order to obey. His mission wasn't to come down to perch on humanity's shoulder; he didn't start out with the intention of serving man… But somewhere along the way that changed.

*4.2

"Cas?" He snapped out of his trance and turned around to look at Dean. "You okay…?" He was worried, it seemed—concerned for _him_ , and what an unusual idea that was. Hundreds of years old and a mere human was concerned for him. Granted, he wasn't any "normal" human, but— "Were you even listening to me?" _Oh. Never mind. That makes more sense._

 **5**

 **"** **Team free will: One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with 6 bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there. Awesome."**

He used to be pure at heart—or so his brothers and sisters told him—uncorrupted and unwavering in his loyalty. But they didn't understand. No one knew what living among humans meant. He became attached, and too soon he was "lost." He was a poor example of an angel—he'd said so himself*—but once you've changed yourself like that for someone, there's really no going back, is there?

* 5.17

Dean removed the damp towel from his face and flinched violently at the mirror. "Dammit, Cas." He took a deep breath and spun to pointedly look at the angel. "Wear a bell or something."

"My apologies. I did not mean to scare you."

"What do you need?" he redirected.

"I heard your call."

 **6**

 **"** **I'm at war. Certain... regrettable things are now required of me."**

When God brought him back, he thought that it meant the answer was free will. But when he began forcing himself into that position, he instead realized that his people—both humans and angels alike— _needed_ direction. Both worlds needed a firm hand in order to avoid chaos. Everything he once fought against suddenly became the foundation of how he ruled.

"What the Hell happened to you, man? What happened to fighting _together_?"

"I don't expect you to understand, but I am currently dealing with bigger problems than you can imagine."

"Civil war—we heard."

"No. You _don't_. _Understand_. With Michael gone, the chain-of-command in Heaven is gone; someone has to take responsibility."

"And that just has to be you, doesn't it," Dean observed offensively.

"Someone has to," He repeated sharply. And with that he disappeared, leaving Dean alone with whatever retort he was going to make. _He doesn't have time for this_.

 **7**

 **"** **I deserved to die. Now, I can't possibly fix it... So why did I even walk out of that river?"**

When he wasn't one—when he was blissfully ignorant of what lurks in the world, if only for a few months—he believed that being an angel was pleasant; much like Dean did when they first met. It was only after he regained his memories that he allowed himself to agree with Dean's classifications that being an angel is bloody and corrupt and _not_ pleasant.* And, after everything he had done in the name of religion, it was a wonder that he was able to delude himself at all.

*7.17

"I'm sorry, Dean. For everything." The hunter refused to look at him or acknowledge his apology. "I'll find a way to make it right. Do whatever I can to earn your trust again." He had been mistaken. He wasn't the leader he thought he was—or thought he _could_ _be_. He knew that now.

Dean took a deep breath before responding. "Cas, honestly… What example do I have that would make me think that I could ever trust you anyway?"

They fell back into an uncomfortable silence, Castiel pushing away the memories of them laughing and fighting not so long ago.

 **8**

 **"** **No. I still want—I still** ** _need_** **to help people."**

It was his fault. All of it. He tried to help, tried to make things right, but once again he was tricked and betrayed and now he has to watch as his efforts fall before his eyes. The other angels looked at him with disgust. They looked at him as though he was tainted—like simply being around the boy king had worn off on him. Even Hester told him he'd "fallen in every way imaginable."* And maybe it did. His obedience to God led him to the Winchesters, and the Winchesters drove him to disobedience. But a _fallen_ angel—what a concept. Only the Devil deserves such a label.

* 7.21

"What do we do now?" Sam and Dean looked at him expectantly. "Castiel?"

"They fell," he said lamely. "All of them… They fell."

"Yeah… They did…"

"No." Castiel looked at Dean because _he_ _didn't understand_ —he never seems to understand—what that really meant. "The angels—all of them, all at once, all over Earth, _fell_. Who will ferry the souls to Heaven? Who will watch over those who are already there?"

 _Oh._ "We'll figure it out," Sam offered from his other side. "We always do."

Castiel just shook his head. The Winchesters have proved him wrong in the past, but this time…

 **9**

 **"** **I didn't want to hurt any of them. I want to help you. I will devote my life to helping you all."**

Guilt. That's what he thrives on now. He runs into angels questioning him and their purpose and what they really are now: "What's an angel without its wings?"* He doesn't belong anywhere anymore; doesn't belong with anyone anymore. Dean says he isn't mad, but he is; the angels make it obvious that they're mad, but why shouldn't they be? He wanted answers, too, at one point. Needed direction. But now they're divided into factions. In the simplest terms: those who trust Castiel and those who want to kill him. Weary and all but powerless—and yet people were still looking towards _him_ for help.

* 9.1

"Where have you been, man?"

"I was… lost."

"Lost? What the Hell does that mean? Sam's been dying and you were 'los—'"

"Don't question me," he bit out. "I've run into my brothers and sisters everywhere trying to find _you_ —all of them wanting answers."

Dean paused briefly, stunned. "I'm sorry. I called for you and you never came—Sam's dying in there and after everything he did for you—"

"I can't help," he stopped him definitively. At Dean's offended expression he elaborated: "I'm _powerless_ , Dean. I cut my hand for the first time, and it hurt—even when I was cut off from heaven it wasn't that bad. If I can't heal myself, there's no way I would be able to heal Sam."

Dean's face softened slightly, as he continued to study him wordlessly.

 **10**

 **"** **Now I realize that there is no righteous path. It's just people trying to do their best in a world where it's far too easy to do your worst."**

All he does is mess things up. He tries to help—really, he does—but, like he'd once told Dean: He's a curse. (Not that the Winchesters are any luckier, but still.) All he does is fail in his attempts to help, and kill in his attempts to stop violence. He'd _like_ to blame humans—they can't see that he has a plan, that he means well, that it wasn't his fault—but he can't. They're too young. They don't know any better. All they have is hope and dreams and faith (if they even have that).

"I just don't know what to do anymore, Cas."

"Have you ever lost faith in your brother before?"

Sam looks at him almost surprised, "I—I—no. Not really. Why?"

"Then why should you lose faith in him now?" Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Castiel beat him to it: "I have found that both of you have a propensity for defying the odds— _especially_ when they are heavily stacked against you. After all of that, don't you think he deserves our loyalty to do everything we can to save him from himself?"

Sam nodded in agreement, but, by the end of his speech, even Castiel didn't know whether he was talking about Dean, or talking about himself.

 **11**

 **"** **I never wanted this, you know. To be hated by my own kind."**

He shouldn't be trusted. After everything he's done and all the ways he's messed up, he thought he would be able to find a way to pay for that. But everything he'd done turned out to not be enough. Redemption. It was all he asked for, all he hoped for. A way to amend for his mistakes, a way to set things right. By any means necessary. Whatever the cost was to himself, he wanted to do the right thing, even if it sounded wrong. He _needed_ to do it—for the rest of the world.

"Castiel…?" Sam asked tentatively.

The man addressed slowly turned around and grinned widely at him. "No, Sammy. Guess again."

The younger man's face paled. "Lucifer," he identified. "How?"

"The little angel did what you wouldn't. He said 'yes.' Just that one, little, magical word." The hunter opened his mouth to say something— _anything_ —in retaliation, but nothing came out. "C'mon," he coaxed, "say something. Honestly, Sam, aren't you glad to see me?"

"No. No, he wouldn't. Not by choice."

"But he did. He knew I was your only hope to save the world. I haven't lied to you before, Sam; why would I start now?" he questioned with mock innocence. Unfortunately, he did have a point: _He has no reason to lie_.

Sam silently stared at the shell of his friend in despair.

From the beginning, he was trained to obey orders, follow superiors, and react when commanded. It was easier then—easy to not have to think for yourself. But it didn't take living on Earth very long to change him. For _humans_ to change him. He began questioning orders, doubting superiors, ignoring commands. And he did it all for humanity.

 _End_


End file.
